Gotcha
by Embolalia
Summary: An old friend of Ari's pulls Ziva and the team into a mission. Case-fic of sorts. Mild TIVA.
1. Chapter 1

**Gotcha**

Summary: An old friend of Ari's pulls Ziva and the team into a mission. Rated for later chapters.

Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure the actual writers of this show get paid...

* * *

Ziva leaned in over the wall of Tony's cubicle to tease him yet again. His latest date had been followed by the woman sending him black roses with intentions not nearly as pure as Abby's. They all needed the levity. Two days had passed since the anniversary of Kate's death, and as the five year mark hit the team had been unusually somber. Ziva knew, though they hadn't told her, that Kate's parents had called each of them, to reminisce and make sure their daughter hadn't been forgotten. For an entire day, no one would make eye contact with her. Ziva was pretty sure Tony's date had been fouled by all of that hanging over him, but she'd been teasing him all day nevertheless. It felt good to get back toward normal.

As Tony looked up at her, waiting for it, a man walking from the elevators ghosted a finger to his lips, signaling Tony to silence. The man was huge, more than six feet tall, and broadly built. Tony nodded his head a fraction.

"Well, Tony," Ziva began—and then the man suddenly had her pinned against the divider, unable to move.

Tony saw panic in her eyes, but before he could reach his gun, the man whispered in her ear, "Gotcha." Ziva looked, if anything, more frightened, but then she smiled, relaxed, cried out, "Patrick!" and whirled into his arms.

When she pulled back a moment later, Tony could see she looked visibly shaken.

"What's wrong?" Patrick asked. British, Tony noted.

"You should not do that to me anymore," she answered firmly.

"What, you're too old for games?" He smiled teasingly.

"No, I just thought--" She stopped.

Patrick's smile faded. "You thought I was Ariel."

She nodded, her eyes downcast.

He tilted her chin up so she'd look at him. "I won't do it again."

Ziva gave him a small smile and drew back to include Tony in the conversation. "So, what are you doing here?"

"Biotech conference."

Tony cleared his throat, drawing their attention, and raised his eyebrows at Ziva.

"Patrick, this is my partner, Tony DiNozzo."

"Patrick Dempsey," the man said, extending his hand to Tony. He gripped Tony's tightly and Tony tried not to wince.

"Tony DiNozzo, good to meet you. So how do you know Ziva?" _Rule #37_, Tony thought, _never miss a chance for some good blackmail._

Ziva's face fell but Patrick spoke right away, "I went to medical school with her older brother. Until she had to join the army, Zi would come visit us once in a while in Edinborough."

Tony nodded slowly, glancing at Ziva and taking in how closely she was still standing to the man. She avoided his eyes.

"So, she's your friend's baby sister?" Tony asked.

Ziva answered him. "We worked together for a while in Berlin. Patrick is with MI5."

"Not anymore."

She looked up at him, surprised and concerned. "What happened?"

He sighed. "You know, someone is your best friend, and when he calls and asks for something, you give it to him because he's your best friend and you trust him. And maybe you don't even bother keeping a record of it because it's not like he'll betray you. And then he does. They took me out of the spy scene for two years, but it didn't matter, I'm not going back. I work for a biotech firm now, handling their most delicate negotiations and keeping abreast of the science." He smiled and shrugged as if to suggest it didn't matter, but the smile wasn't anything like his earlier ones.

"Yeah, we're not his biggest fans here, either," Tony replied, but Patrick was still watching Ziva.

"Part of the reason I found you is to see—I know today's the day. I though maybe you'd want to light a candle."

Ziva pursed her lips, staring at the floor. Tony couldn't tell if she was angry or sad. "I bought one. But I have decided not to lighten it."

Patrick set a hand on her hair, thumb stroking her temple. "Okay, kid."

After a moment, Ziva pulled away. "So how did you find me here?"

"I heard recently that you were in D.C. I was in Tel Aviv last month and stopped by your old place, only to find Miriam's living there now. I kind of walked in on her…"

Ziva grinned. "Yes, I heard about that."

"Gotta say, I look at your sister in a whole new way, now."

"Sister?" Tony piped up. "But you said…" He trailed off as he realized she'd never told him so many details of her life. He'd simply assumed that Tali and Ari—Ariel?—had been her only siblings.

With a wince of apology, Ziva filled him in, in her best sit-rep tone. "In Mossad they teach you not to talk about living family members. It can set them up for danger." She paused, then looked him in the eye as she spoke more softly. "You hear a few horror stories and you learn not to speak of your family much. My sister Miriam is also Mossad, so I must protect her identity even more fiercely."

Tony didn't answer. He was trying to picture Ziva as a girl among sisters. When he didn't speak, Ziva let the matter drop and turned back to Patrick.

"So you knew I was here, but why come to me?"

"I came to find you, really, because Miriam asked me to. She's undercover at the same conference I'm headed to and wanted your back-up."

"She is in DC!" Ziva exclaimed. Tony grinned.

"She seemed wary of letting on to her control officers that you were involved; I guess that's why she didn't call you herself."

"Do you know what her assignment is?"

"I really don't," Patrick answered, "she just said to let you know to come. I can get you in without any hassle about faking registration for the conference, you see. You can be my guest."

Ziva nodded, processing, then pulled out her cell phone, stepping away from Tony's area and leaning against her desk as she dialed. She listened to it for a minute, and when she spoke, Tony started, for the voice she used was nothing like her own. For one thing, she no longer had an accent.

"Hi," she lilted, "This is Miriam. I'm off to a party tonight in DC, so don't expect a call back until tomorrow!" She snapped the phone closed and looked up, grinned at Tony and Patrick's faces.

"You sounded just like her," Patrick sputtered.

"What the hell was that?" Tony asked.

Ziva tossed her phone up and caught it. "It is a system we worked out years ago. We share a phone number that does not really exist—it is just a voicemail box. If I call and change the outgoing message, she'll get a text. Then she will call the voicemail, listen to her message, and change it. In our phone records it merely shows up as checking our respective voicemail, so there is no trace that we're communicating." She smiled at Patrick. "If she did not intend for you to accompany me later, I am sure she would simply have done this to stay in touch."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "How very McGee of you."

Patrick began to explain the science behind the conference and Tony drifted back to his work for a few minutes, but perked up again when he saw Ziva's phone vibrate on her desk. She flipped it open and tilted her head, presumably listening to the message. When she saw his eyes, she pressed the speakerphone button.

"This is Ziva," the phone said. Tony shook his head in wonder. Her sister apparently had the same talent for voices. "I am out at the opening gala of a conference in DC tonight. I have the perfect black dress for the occasion, and some fabulous accessories. Hope to see you there." A beep ended the message and Ziva ended the call.

"Accessories?" Tony asked, flirtation in his eyes.

Patrick barked a laugh. "Doesn't mean the same to them it does to you and me."

Ziva smirked at him.

"I still remember the first time Ariel looked over at me and told me to drive carefully, his sister had C4 in her purse."

"Oh, whatever. There was only enough to blow the three of us up if you got us in an accident."

Tony tried not to look horrified.

"Is she even talking about a real dress?" Patrick asked.

Ziva nodded. "I believe so. There is one I got in Israel, with her, when I was last home. It's loose enough on the bottom to conceal a weapon. Probably what she means by accessories. Plus…I'll carry a standard back-up kit—a wire, bullets, poisons, things she might need." She used a pen to tick them off on her fingers as Tony's eyes grew wide. He forgot sometimes how much she knew about these things as an assassin.

"I'll look forward to seeing the dress anyway," Patrick replied, flirting suddenly in a way that made Tony look at him sharply. "I have to go check into my hotel, but I'll pick you up here at seven, alright?"

"Seven." Ziva tossed the pen up and caught it in her hand, then stepped toward Patrick to hug him good-bye. As she started to pull away, Tony heard Patrick inhale sharply and realized Ziva was holding the edge of the pen cap against the artery in his temple. "Gotcha," she whispered. After a long pause she let him go and he shook his head as he relaxed.

"See you," Patrick called over his shoulder, and he left.

Tony shuddered. "Could you really have hurt him with that?"

Ziva shrugged. "It doesn't take much pressure to break skin, you know."

He watched, rapt, as she settled back down at her desk, his mind full of questions. "Are you really going to go?" made its way out first.

"Go where?" Gibbs interrupted as he swung into the bullpen, followed closely by McGee.

Tony stood to report but found himself unsure where to start.

"An old friend and contact of mine came by to say that my—my sister is in DC with Mossad and needs my help."

Gibbs' face registered more surprise than Tony had seen there in a while, but it was Tim who spoke. "Your _sister_?"

Ziva nodded once, firmly.

Tony watched McGee struggle to repress more questions.

"What does she need you for?" Gibbs asked, swinging around his desk and into his chair and he watched her, evaluating.

"Well, I am not really sure. The man who came by on her behalf is going to the same conference where she's undercover. He will get me in and I will help her however she needs."

"Who is he?"

Ziva didn't answer right away. She looked to Tony for help but he had no idea how to put it either. "He is a friend of my brother's. From—from before he was a double agent."

Gibbs tensed at the word _brother_. "Are you sure you can trust him?"

Ziva tilted her head. "I'm sure I can trust Miri, and she would not rely on Patrick if there were any question about his loyalties."

"Well, I'm not letting you go off alone with him, I don't care who you'll know there."

Ziva opened her mouth to protest but Gibbs railroaded over her. "Tony can go with you."

"Gibbs," she put in, hands on her hips, "the event tonight is a dinner, a gala, and I can only get in as Patrick's guest—it is a biotech conference, Tony would not be able to be convincing anyway if one of the other scientists started talking to him."

Gibbs exhaled, staring off into space. "Abby, then. She'll know the science. With Tony on her arm. I don't care if you're just going as your sister's back-up; you're not going without some of your own."

She didn't look acquiescent, but Ziva made no further protest.

"Well, go tell Abby to get you registered, and some fake IDs," Gibbs told Tony.

"Yes, Boss!" Tony darted for the elevator, McGee on his heels.

* * *

The rest of this is mostly planned, but as yet unwritten. Let me know if you want more...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Tony entered the bullpen at a quarter to seven. A few people still had lights on in different alcoves, but he was perplexed to find his team's area empty except for McGee as he walked up. "Where's the action, McGeek?"

McGee smiled without looking up from his computer, ignoring the moniker. "Oh, they're down in Abby's lab, getting wired. I mean that in every possible sense of the term."

Tony gave him a worried look and headed back toward the elevators.

As he stepped out onto Abby's floor, Tony heard squeals of glee. He chuckled, registering the meaning of McGee's comment. He entered the lab, where Abby was jumping up and down in a royal blue, strapless dress. It took him a second to process her words.

"Tony, Tony, Tony! The director said if I was going to get us fake passes, I might as well get real ones! I get to go tomorrow and hear papers about the coolest new tricks against chemical weapons, and some really neat bacteria and even mold that—"

"Great, Abby!" Tony interrupted before she could get too far into the monologue. "You look great, are you guys almost ready?"

"Thanks, Tony!" Abby swung toward her computer to check something beeping. "Yup! We're going to use our own IDs, but I'm printing one for Ziva in case whoever her sister is tracking could recognize her name. Don't you think it's funny that she never told us she has a sister? I mean, everyone knows I have a brother and Tim has a sister, and you have however many steps and halfs—but Ziva's never mentioned a sister." She paused to pick up the newly printed ID and Tony stepped into the break in her conversation.

"She told me about a sister, once."

"Really?" Abby twisted to see him, surprised to near-silence.

"She had a younger sister who died in a suicide bombing."

"Oh." Abby looked stricken.

"She said earlier that she was protecting this sister—I guess it makes sense."

"I guess." Abby had recovered enough to look pensive and unsure.

"I am her partner, though." Now Tony looked unsure. But at the same time, he looked up, and there was Ziva coming out of Abby's inner chamber in a sleeveless black silk dress cut in a deep V on top and swirling around her legs at the bottom, and there were no more words in his brain.

Abby caught his expression and turned to grin at Ziva. "Nice, Ziva."

"Thank you, Abby. Do you have the wires ready?"

"Sure thing. Now, this is sound only. Hopefully it'll be enough; we're not really sure what we're looking for." She pulled the shoulder strap of Ziva's dress aside and clipped a tiny microphone to the strap of her bra, then ran the wire down Ziva's shoulder. "I'll slip this in the side of your bra, ok?"

"Ok." Ziva looked up. "Tony, turn around."

He grinned sadly and obliged. When Abby gave him permission, he turned around again. "Are we wearing wires, too?"

"I do not think you need to. Miriam did not plan on your presence, so there is no reason why you should."

"Sounds good," Abby said, then swiped Ziva's ID off her lab bench. "So, here you are: Eliza Benjamin."

"Eliza?" Tony and Ziva asked together.

"Well, there's a 'z' in there," Abby explained. "So, if we call you 'Zi,' no one will think anything of it."

Ziva shrugged. "Very well. It is not the strangest name I have ever had undercover, that is certain."

"Re-ally?" Tony asked, raising his eyebrows at her. "Do tell."

Ziva laughed. "We do not have time. Patrick will be here any minute. Abby, shoes."

Grimacing, Abby pulled out two pairs of heels from a paper bag. For the first time, Tony realized both women were barefoot. As he watched, they each stepped into a pair of stilettos. Ziva slung a black purse over he shoulder, and Tony wondered what 'accessories' it might contain, but didn't ask. Abby reached for his arm. "Seriously, Tony, I'm going to be on your arm tonight in many ways."

"No worries, Abs," Tony teased, "cling away."

She elbowed him and he flinched.

"Ready?"

Tony took in Ziva as she stood in the lab doorway. It occurred to him for the first time to feel jealous that she would be on Patrick's arm tonight and not his. With a smile and a nod to her, he pushed the thought from his mind and helped Abby along as she mock-hobbled to the elevator.

Patrick had thoughtfully hired a limousine, and in less than half an hour the team was pulling up to one of the fancier hotels in the DC area. Patrick and Abby presented their IDs at the entrance to the conference to confirm their registration, and the group proceeded into a ballroom full of tables and a few dozen people already socializing around the bar and hors d'oeuvres stands.

"Should we look for her?" Tony whispered as they made their way to one of the empty tables.

"I have seen her."

"Really?" Patrick looked at her with surprise. "I didn't—"

"She's blond again."

Tony stopped walking and laughed, shocked. Ziva turned to him in amusement. "What?"

"I'm having trouble picturing you as a convincing blond."

Now Patrick laughed.

"She is biologically my cousin. Her mother was a German Jew whose family emigrated—who was also a blond. Her father was my father's brother," Ziva slipped her hand into the crook of Patrick's elbow as he led them to an empty table, and continued talking to Tony over her shoulder. "When her parents were killing in a bombing, Miriam became my sister. She was four, I was six. She is my sister. And she is blond." Patrick held Ziva's chair for her and sat to her left. Tony took her other side, with Abby beside him.

"Got it," Tony said. "Blond sister. Here?"

"You're sure you saw her?" Patrick added.

"Completely," Ziva answered. "Abby, would you join me on a trip to the bathroom?"

Abby made a face. "I hate when girls do that."

Ziva rolled her eyes. "_Abby_. Do you think I need you to come with me to _pee?_"

The men laughed.

"Oh!" Abby exclaimed. "Right. Got it. Let's go."

Abby got up and followed Ziva as she circled the party. There was a set of bathrooms right off the ballroom, but when Ziva didn't give them a second glance, Abby followed without comment. As they made their way up a flight of stairs and into part of the hotel used for the small sessions held during conferences, Abby finally asked, "Where are we going?"

Ziva smiled. "All the downstairs bathrooms would be crowded. At this time of night, only guests would be walking through here, and they have their own." She pushed open the first door they came to with a picture of a woman on it and they found themselves in a lounge that led into the women's room. Ziva continued into the bathroom and whistled a few notes. To Abby's surprise, they were whistled back from one of the stalls. Ziva turned and grinned at her, looking more joyful than Abby could ever remember seeing her. She smiled back. Ziva peeked down to make sure no other stalls were occupied, then darted past Abby to lock the door to the lounge. Abby whirled as a toilet flushed and there, in the stall doorway, stood a blond woman in a white dress that reminded Abby of an old Halloween costume she'd had.

The blond looked with surprise from Abby to Ziva as she crossed to wash her hands.

Ziva introduced them as she walked back toward the bathroom. "Miri, this is Abby. She works with me at NCIS. She's safe."

Miriam nodded with a smile, not even glancing at Abby as she flung her arms around Ziva. Ziva held her back, tightly, for a long minute. Abby stepped backward into the lounge, trying to give them privacy, only to clutch the side of a couch as she nearly tripped over her shoes.

Ziva turned to her with a smile. "Abby, this is my sister, Miriam." The other woman extended a hand to Abby.

"Nice to meet you," Miriam said, in an accent that was the same as Ziva's but fainter. She turned back to Ziva and without saying anything, reached into her dress and switched off her mike, then motioned that Ziva should do the same. Ziva tried to reach the battery pack and finally Abby stepped in and did it for her. When both were off, Miriam spoke again.

"Thanks for coming." She looked worried.

"Of course." Ziva smiled at her fondly. "Why are the wires off?"

Miriam paused, pulled Ziva into the lounge to sit down on a couch. Abby took a chair opposite them. "I wanted this conversation to be private."

"Who's your control agent?"

"Rivkin."

Ziva looked startled. "And you trust him? After the shit he pulled last year with me at NCIS?" Abby nodded emphatically.

Miriam shook her head. "I do not. You need not worry; I have not let my guard down."

Ziva cocked her head. "So you haven't slept since you left Israel?"

Miriam shrugged. "It's only been two days. I haven't run out of caffeine tabs."

"Come on, then," Ziva gestured to the couch. "Sleep. Just for five minutes. Then you can explain to me what's going on."

Miriam hesitated, then shrugged gratefully. Abby watched as Ziva kicked off her heels and sat down on the couch, back against its arm, and let Miriam sit between her legs. Miriam leaned back into her and Ziva wrapped her arms around her sister's waist.

"Sleep," Ziva whispered. Miriam closed her eyes.

Within moments, Abby could tell from her breathing that Miriam was asleep. She wondered how light a sleeper the woman was, and opened her mouth to whisper to Ziva, but then Ziva leaned forward, whispering into Miriam's hair. Abby strained to hear and realized after a moment that her words were Hebrew, with the cadence of a prayer.

A few minutes later, Ziva looked up serenely. "Thank you for helping tonight, Abby," she said softly.

"Of course!" Abby replied. "We're your family too, you know, Ziva. I mean, Eliza."

Ziva smiled. "And you know that I feel the same, but there is some—some comfort, in finding yourself suddenly in the embrace of people who have known every version of yourself that you have ever been, who know all your stories."

Abby nodded, then answered gleefully, "well, we may have to get them to tell us some of your stories."

Ziva made a face at her. She glanced at the ornate clock above Abby's chair. "Time to wake her." She nuzzled into Miriam's neck. "Miri." She murmured something else that Abby didn't catch and the blond woman pulled away from Ziva, stretching.

"Thanks," she said softly as she turned to sit facing Ziva, both cross-legged.

"So what is it?" Ziva asked, with a purposeful glance to the locked door to remind her sister that time was a factor.

Miriam stared at her sister's feet a moment. The worry on her face made Abby's stomach suddenly twist. "I was sent here on a hit."

Ziva nodded acceptance, raised her eyebrows to ask the pertinent question.

Miriam met her gaze. "I was sent here to kill Patrick."

Ziva's face went pale as she stared at her sister, then she leapt from the couch and hurtled into the bathroom. Miriam and Abby chased after her, catching up to her as she retched into a toilet. Miriam stroked her hair while Abby hung back.

Ziva gasped for air, fighting tears. Miriam rested a hand on the back of her neck. "I'm sorry. There was no easy way—" She paused, then spoke slowly. "I didn't want to believe it at first but I gathered the intelligence myself. He was tied to the bombing on the Tube in London a few years ago, and there was a biological attack in Jerusalem several months ago that we narrowly stopped that had to have come from him. There are others, too—I'm so sorry, Ziba."

Abby filled a cup of water from the dispenser in the lounge and passed it to Ziva, who had tears in her eyes as she spat into the toilet and flushed it. Abby kept moving, trying not to show that she too was upset, mostly by the idea of assassination. This reality of Ziva's life had never felt quite so real.

Ziva sat with her back to the wall, leaning on Miriam. Abby wasn't sure whether or not to leave but Ziva motioned to her to stay, so Abby leaned against the counter.

"I told him about the cell-phones," Ziva said finally.

Miriam shrugged. "He may always have known. He was certainly fully aware of and supportive of Ari."

Abby caught the shudder that went through Ziva at the name.

Miriam pulled far enough away to look at Ziva. "When you called and told me what Ariel had done—I felt like this." She gave a hint of a smile. "I threw up, too. But knowing you killed him—I felt like we were in control of good and evil again, the way we're suppose to be."

Ziva nodded, tearfully, still looking at her sister. She missed Abby's wide eyes. "So what do you need me to do?"

Miriam looked nervous again.

"Shoot him?"

"No. I just need you to get him somewhere. Tomorrow morning."

Ziva's eyes widened as she realized the implications, but she nodded. "You want me to sleep with him."

"I could do it, but he knows I'm seeing someone."

"Right."

"If you don't want to, I understand. The mikes are off." When Ziva started to shake her head, Miriam continued, "I know you made out with him that time, in London."

Ziva smiled for a second. "I forgot I told you about that."

Miriam grinned back. "Something about the delightfulness of having an older brother with attractive friends."

Both their smiles faded, were replaced with tension and sadness.

"It's fine, I'll do it. Make sure you get him." Ziva stood, pulling her sister up beside her. For a long moment, Miriam wrapped her arms around Ziva again.

"You'd better straighten your make-up." She reached into her bag and handed over a scrap of paper. "Here's the place and time. I'll meet you when it's over." She kissed Ziva on the cheek and left, nodding to Abby as she passed.

Abby nodded back and looked to Ziva, who was correcting her mascara with a damp piece of paper towel. "Let me get that." Ziva didn't speak, but handed over the towel. Abby silently helped Ziva restore her facade.

"I didn't know you killed Ari," Abby said as they were walking back toward the stairs, glancing sideways to gauge Ziva's reaction.

"He was about to shoot Gibbs." Ziva was back to normal, expressionless, but her voice was huskier than usual.

Abby stopped abruptly and turned to her, speechless. "I didn't know that," she said finally. They'd reached the steps and Abby sat down on the top stair. Ziva joined her.

"He'd betrayed our country, and me. He confessed to it and took aim at Gibbs." Ziva's tone was measured but Abby reached out to grab her hand anyway.

"I have a brother," Abby said in a small voice. "A younger brother. And I can't imagine—I mean, if he'd killed a lot of people, and Kate, and shot Gerald—even Gibbs—I'm not sure, but then I don't regularly kill people, but still…" She trailed off, staring at Ziva.

Ziva sighed, holding Abby's hand tightly but staring past her shoes. "If you had asked me five minutes earlier, I would have said I would never shoot him."

Abby gripped Ziva's hand just as hard. "I'm sorry I was so mean to you when you first came. I didn't know."

Ziva turned to her with a smile. "I understood." She stood and pulled Abby to her feet as well.

When they reached the landing, Abby stopped. "Ziva, can I give you a hug?"

"And fulfill Tony's fantasy while he's not here?" Ziva grinned teasingly.

Abby laughed and put her arms around Ziva, hugging her close. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Ziva hugged her back.


	3. Chapter 3

Recap: Ari's best friend Patrick showed up and told Ziva her sister Miriam needed her help. Abby, Tony and Ziva went with Patrick to a party where Ziva met Miriam and found out that the mission is for her to seduce Patrick and set him up for Miriam to assassinate.

Disclaimer: Oh, you know.

A/N This is the chapter with the M rating. Nothing too graphic, but you've been warned. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 3

"So, Ariel is trying to teach their youngest siblings to skate, and Miri's okay because of all her martial arts training, but the little ones, Tali and Moshe, they're falling all over the place—"

"Who's Moshe?" Tony interrupted just as Abby and Ziva walked up to the table.

"My brother. Dead. In the army," Ziva answered.

Tony flinched. "Sorry."

"Hello again, darling," Patrick greeted her. "How was the bathroom?"

"Fine," Ziva smiled back.

"I was just telling Tony about how you learned to ice skate. Anyway, Ariel says to me that Ziva can do skating tricks, and I don't believe him, 'cause she's just told me she's never done it before, but there you go—one minute on the ice and I owe him ten pounds because sure enough, she can do every kind of spin!"

Abby looked sideways at Ziva. "Wow, I didn't know you could do that!"

Ziva gives her a half smile.

"What Ariel knew and I didn't was that she'd just spent three months undercover as a dancer in the Russian ballet. She could pirouette backwards and forwards and doing it on ice only took about three seconds longer to figure out." He grinned at Ziva.

She shrugged.

Abby covered Ziva's silence. "Well, we should go skating sometime; I love to ice skate."

Tony laughed. "Of course you do, Abs."

Patrick was glancing at the dance floor and back to Ziva, but Abby followed his gaze and spoke up, "Would you like to dance? In these heels, I'm nearly as tall as Tony, and no offense but there's something about waltzing that works better if the man is taller. Unless you're dancing with a woman, of course—then it's better if she's shorter. But I think people might look twice if Ziva and I got out on the dance floor."

Tony grinned at the image.

"I'd love to," Patrick answered. He rose, offering Abby his arm, and led her off.

As they walked away, Tony turned to Ziva, no longer smiling.

"So how was the bathroom, really?"

Ziva stared at her plate. "I can't tell you. It is not secure here."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "But there's something to tell?"

"Nothing we need to do tonight." She looked up, her face stern, brooking no more conversation. Tony held up his hands, letting the subject go.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, picking at the salads and bread that were brought around to each table. Finally Tony opened his mouth to speak, and rather than be drawn into conversation, Ziva asked, "would you like to dance?"

Tony grinned. "Okay." He led her out to the dance floor, wondering with a bit of panic if he should put her hand at the small of her back where it might seem too presumptuous or higher, where he would be touching her bare skin. At the last moment, his hand settled low on her spine, pulling her against him. She glanced up at him with a hint of a smile and began to dance, glad to be too close for much eye contact.

Her silence registered on Tony nonetheless, and as another song started, he ventured, "So, what's wrong?"

Ziva tensed. She couldn't tell him about Patrick, not here. Any reaction on his part could give her away, and Tony might be an investigator but he wasn't a spy. So she told him something else, something equally true. "I am thinking of Ari today."

Tony missed a beat and stepped quickly to get back into the rhythm of the dance. "Because Patrick is here?"

"And because it's his yahrzeit. The anniversary of his death. It is an important day if you are Jewish, the day that someone you—that someone close to you died."

He looked down at her but her head was turned to the side.

"Does it bother you to hear this?" Ziva asked softly. "I know you've been remembering Kate."

Tony's tone was thoughtful. "It strikes me more how you never tell me about yourself. As if you don't trust me."

Now she looked up at him, her eyes wide and serious. "Tony, so much of my life—it's secret for everyone's safety, even yours."

"Ari is dead, though."

"Yes." She flinched as she said it.

Tony watched her flinch and couldn't help wondering, as he had wondered so many times, who she really was. "You said you were thinking of him. What do you think about when you remember him?"

She voice quivered very slightly. "I learned to dance with him. When we were children, my father would dance my mother around the living room. Ariel would stand me on his feet and dance me around, too. And then when we were older, my father had us trained in all sorts of dancing—to prepare us for social situations just like tonight. We were always paired for that sort of thing. You're about his height and build, which helps. With Patrick dancing is barely the same thing." Her voice hushed further. "I used to love to dance."

Tony ached to find some way to comfort her.

"And you were really a ballet dancer?" he asked, gently but humorously.

Ziva half-smiled. "If there's any other career I have ever considered, it was that one."

He shook his head in wonder. He really didn't know her at all.

Ziva took a deep breath as she tried to be honest with him. "And sometimes, of course, I remember his death. But most of my memories of him are good ones. It makes it harder to believe he went as wrong as he did." She peeked up at him, but he wasn't judging her.

"I finally reached that point with Kate," he offered. "I can finally mostly only remember her fondly. Without dwelling on—on her death."

Ziva smiled wickedly. "Fondly and naked?"

Tony grimaced with mock humiliation. "How different would our friendship have been if you hadn't walked in right then?"

Ziva laughed.

Patrick's hand on her shoulder cut off her laugh. "Can I cut in?"

Ziva smiled up at him. Tony could tell she was putting on the cloak of flirtatiousness she used often on cases, but Patrick didn't seem to notice. Tony stepped back, allowing Ziva to dance with Patrick. He watched for a moment as the two stepped away together, then turned away.

He could see Abby standing in a cluster of people whose dress marked them as scientists, talking animatedly. Tony smiled fondly and headed toward the tables of hot foot that had been set out.

Tony perused the buffet, glancing over the chicken and pasta and vegetable options before getting in line. As he did, the woman in front of him turned to take in the room and smiled politely at him.

"Enjoying the party?" Tony asked suavely.

"It is a lovely hotel," the blond woman answered.

"And you're not enjoying yourself?" Tony asked, "Maybe I can help."

A smile twitched across her face. "No thank you, Tony. This is business for me, not pleasure."

Tony gaped as she said his name and she smirked. Smirked the exact smirk he warranted a dozen times a day from her sister. He watched as she turned and headed out of line and back into the crowd. And then as his eyes followed her, his face broke into a smile. She knew his name and his face. Ziva had been talking about him.

"So?" Patrick whispered into Ziva's hair as he danced her around the floor.

"What?" She tilted her head back.

"Anything I can help with?"

She smiled and shook her head. "It's taken care of. Just enjoy the party."

He smiled back. "I'm enjoying this."

Ziva nodded, her stomach tightening.

"I remember when I first met you," Patrick said softly. "You were what, seventeen? I remember thinking of you as a kid. But you've grown up into such a beautiful woman."

"Thank you," Ziva said lightly. "But what I remember was that you were completely annoyed that Ari had brought along three teenaged girls to spoil your attempts to pick up girls in that pub."

Patrick laughed. "Well, call it selective memory." The song ended and he glanced around. "Hungry? The food's out."

"Sure," Ziva answered, taking his arm and letting Patrick lead her across the room.

When they reached the table, Tony and Abby were sitting eating.

"I need to go to the bathroom, I'll be back in a minute," Ziva said Patrick sat down.

"Where are we going?" Abby asked as she got up, too.

"I actually have to pee," Ziva whispered.

The men laughed.

"That's okay, I'll come anyway," Abby replied.

As the women walked off, Tony looked pensively at his plate, then turned to Patrick and asked, "So, how well do you know, um, Eliza?"

Patrick cocked his head a minute, framing an answer, then said, "well, I knew her best when she was a girl. Before she lost anyone. She was very different then. She took the army and Mossad seriously, of course, but—well, she was more open. Less defended. I'm not sure I'm phrasing this right."

Tony nodded. "That makes sense."

Patrick looked at him carefully. "Do you know her well?"

Tony shrugged. "She's been my partner for five years. But she hasn't been easy to get to know. I didn't know she had any siblings but Tali and Ari until today."

Patrick nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I don't know how much she'd want me to tell you, but they were all really close. Five siblings, distant father, her mother died pretty young; they all relied on each other. I was Ari's friend and he was their leader, so I was included to some degree, but it was all about family."

"The people you've found your way out of Israeli forests with," Tony offered.

Patrick chuckled. "Right."

When they were finished in the bathroom, washing their hands, Abby asked, "So are you really going to do it? Because if you can't, I guess I could—not that I like him, but he's attractive, and I know he's your friend and your sister said—"

Ziva cut her off with a wave of her hand. "It's alright, Abby. I appreciate the offer, but I can do this myself."

Abby shook her head. "Really? I can't imagine…" She trailed off, not wanting to name the act in case someone else walked in the bathroom.

Ziva smiled humorlessly as she dried her hands. "Some of my best lovers have been assignments."

Abby's mouth fell open in shock.

Ziva shrugged. "I know it sounds strange, from the outside, but it is part of this job. It has always been. And I am Mossad, no matter how long I spent at NCIS." She threw out her paper towel and led the way out of the bathroom, Abby following slowly.

Back at the table, a few other guests at the convention had joined Patrick and Tony, and Tony and Ziva sat back as the others discussed science for the rest of the meal.

"There's nothing we need to do for Miriam?" Patrick asked softly as he helped Ziva into her coat.

"No. Some things I can take care of later." She knew she was being terse, but Patrick didn't comment, simply offered her his elbow and led her to the car.

Ziva was quiet in the limo after they dropped the others off, but invited Patrick inside when they reached her apartment. He asked, with a bit of hesitation, if he should bring up his overnight bag from the car and when she shrugged alluringly, he slid the strap over his shoulder and dismissed the car.

Inside, he looked up and down the hall as she unlocked the apartment door. "There's so much less security here."

She glanced up at him. "It was bizarre at first, how people don't feel scared. I have gotten used to it, perhaps too much so." She walked into the living room and he followed. She saw the candle still out on the dining table and stopped, closed her eyes.

Patrick barely avoided stumbling over her. "Is everything alright?"

After a moment she answered. "It has been five years."

He saw the candle that had caught her eye and stepped beside her, so he could see her face. She hadn't turned on the lights yet and the shadows around her eyes made her nearly unreadable. "Do you miss him?"

Ziva shrugged. "I work everyday with people whose friend he killed. It's hard to even think of him." She paused. "Did you know Ariel killed Tony's old partner?"

"I did."

Ziva looked at him with surprise. "He told you?"

"Miri did. In Tel Aviv—I asked where you were and she said you were doing penance for not stopping him by taking his victim's place."

Ziva stared off into space a minute, wondering if Miri had been right. "I did," she said finally, "stop him." She wasn't sure what he'd make of it, if he was what Miriam believed. Part of her wanted him to applaud, to give her a reason to call off Miriam. At the same time she wanted him to attack her, to finally make her take responsibility for her fratricide.

Instead, ambiguously, he stroked her cheek. "You did what you had to."

She let him pull her against his chest. Without meaning to, she started trembling. "I did love him," she whispered.

"So did I."

Patrick kissed her forehead, then her eyes, and when he reached her mouth Ziva thought how bizarre it was that he was offering her comfort for his own loss. She took it anyway.

Before she could take control of the situation, Patrick was sinking back onto the couch, pulling her down across his lap. "You're too short," he whispered with a grin, "come here."

Her whole body tensed for a moment. Could she really do this? She'd slept with men for Mossad's reasons before, but this man, tonight—Ziva tried to dismiss the conflict. It had to be done.

She ground her hips into Patrick's and kissed him fiercely, eyes closed, imagining for a moment that it was Tony. She could feel Patrick's hands at her waist trying to slow her down and she cursed internally as she stilled. She was a professional, she knew how to build a mood, to seduce, but tonight she was a mess. Think of Tony, pretend it is real, she told herself, but then she felt Patrick's lips at her neck and remonstrated with herself. It wasn't fair to Patrick. He only had tonight and he wanted it with her. He'd known her for years and genuinely wanted her. She opened her eyes and whispered his name, kissed him again as he stood and lifted her around his hips. They laughed together when he carried her to the kitchen before finding the bedroom.

They were tired from the party, but Patrick devoted himself to finding the places on her body that made Ziva scream with pleasure, and he turned out be quite good at it. Yet afterward, when they curled up to sleep, she found herself still in turmoil. She did not doubt what Miriam had said, but she could not bring herself to think of Patrick as a danger to her. For the moment Ziva let herself relax as she pressed a goodnight kiss to Patrick's lips and laid her head on his shoulder.

He smiled at her in the dark. "Feeling okay now?"

"Mmhm," she purred sleepily.

Patrick rubbed a hand up and down her back. "Lilah Tov, Zibilya," he said softly.

Ziva's breath caught and she didn't answer, fighting tears at the knowledge that he was one of a half dozen people left in the world who knew what her mother had called her.

When the alarm went off the next morning, Patrick groaned and flung an arm across his face. Ziva tugged on it. "Come running with me?" She put on her most flirtatious look.

Patrick sighed. "Alright."

While he dressed, Ziva checked the scrap of paper in her purse from the night before. They were right on schedule. When Patrick came out, she told him they'd drive to her favorite trail, just outside DC. He smiled and agreed, and ate the energy bar she passed him as she ate her own.

Two miles into their run, they reached the bend in the trail near the beaver dam. Ziva's feet hit the trail rhythmically, her pace unhindered by the uneven ground. She couldn't hear the shot, of course, but she heard him fall. It had to be a head shot, of course, so she didn't look back.

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Well? What did you think? I'm planning an epilogue, so check back soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N **I'm relatively new here, and only since the last chapter did I figure out how to respond to reviews. Unfortunately, I didn't do so in time to respond to any of them in a timely fashion. So, if you sent a review, especially a substantive one, I appreciate it! Thanks for taking the time. ~E

**Disclaimer: **No change since the last chapter!

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**Chapter 4**

Tony woke up at 9:30 the next morning, groggy even though he'd had relatively little to drink at the party. He showered to wake up, thinking the night over as he did. Ziva had seemed out of sorts and he couldn't figure out exactly why. Her sister had been there, an old friend, she'd been reminded of her brother's death—he sighed as he dried off. Maybe it was just all of those things at once, but he wished she'd told him what was going on. At any rate, Abby would spill the minute he let her. Dressing quickly, he headed into the living room to grab his cell and call her up.

"Hey!" she answered the phone.

"Hey, Abbs, it's Tony."

"Good morning, Tony! Aren't Saturdays nice?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Abbs, I was calling to find out what happened last night. When you and Ziva went to meet her sister? She didn't want to talk about it where there were people who might overhear."

Abby was quiet so long that Tony pulled the phone from his ear and checked to make sure the call hadn't ended.

"Abby?"

"Tony, her sister—Miriam—said that Patrick was a traitor and a terrorist just like Ari. Mossad sent her to kill him."

"Oh, god," Tony sighed. Now Ziva's behavior made sense. "Poor Ziva."

"Ye-ah." Abby dragged the word out. "But that's not all."

"What do you mean?"

"Tony—"

"What?"

"I don't know if she'd want to tell you herself."

"Abby," Tony was growing frustrated as his concern mounted, "she would have told me if Patrick hadn't been there, you know it. I'm her partner. Tell me what's going on."

Abby sighed. "Miriam needed Ziva's help to set Patrick up. She wanted Ziva to sleep with him, get him vulnerable."

Tony was suddenly filled with chaos. Shock and defensiveness and, somewhere, jealousy. "Ziva wouldn't do that, maybe on some mission for Mossad but not to someone who was her friend," Tony protested.

For a moment there was only silence.

"Tony," Abby said slowly, "Ziva told me last night that she killed Ari."

"What?"

"To save Gibbs' life," she rushed to explain. "She knew her brother was a traitor, and she killed him to save Gibbs' life. And she never told us. I just mean—we really don't know her that well. She could easily have helped set up Patrick."

Now Tony was silent, pondering the times someone had made a comment about Kate or Ari and Ziva had looked uncomfortable. She hadn't been feeling guilty that her beloved brother had hurt their friend; she was thinking that she'd shot him. He had thought the night before how little he knew her, but it seemed she was even more a stranger than he could have guessed. But when he closed his eyes and pictured her, smiling cheekily at him from across their desks, he thought he knew her well enough to know that she hadn't slept with Patrick. And if Miriam had been successful anyway, Ziva would need him.

"I really don't know, Abby," he said finally. "I'm going to go over and check on her, though."

"Okay, Tony," Abby said wistfully. "I hope things are ok. Bye."

"Bye."

He hung up and shoved the phone in his pocket.

***

The drive back to her apartment seemed far longer than the one to the park, during which Patrick had been playfully grouchy about the early hour and teasing her about her driving. Now Ziva had only her own thoughts for comfort, and they provided sorely little of it. There had been a time, as a girl, when she had dreamed of a bright future, an adulthood surrounded by her brothers and sisters, their wives and husbands and children and friends. When she was young, Patrick had been part of that picture. It was not Patrick she mourned, Ziva told herself, it was the dream, now so tarnished. She was mourning for herself, for the fantasy that after five years in America seemed not so unreasonable, not so much to ask for. But she was not American, she was Israeli, and the reality was that she had Miriam, and no one else. It was enough to make her sob aloud as she finally entered her apartment and curled up on the floor, wishing desperately.

Miriam arrived about an hour later and found Ziva unmoved.

"You heard someone picking the lock and didn't want to get up?" she asked in Hebrew.

"I knew it was you." Ziva answered in a monotone without moving.

Miriam sat down beside her, stroked her hair. "I'm sorry I asked you to do this."

Ziva pulled herself up to sit against the wall, her arms around her knees. "There was no other way."

Miriam nodded, not taking her eyes of Ziva's face. She tilted her head to one side. "I didn't expect—I didn't know you were so close to him, to be this upset."

Ziva's eyes blazed into her sister's for a moment. "I am glad that a traitor is dead. I just-" Her voice broke and she looked back at her knees. "Miri, there's so little left of our childhood that can be remembered without pain at someone using us or keeping secrets or having died since then." Her tears began to fall again and now she allowed Miriam to pull her close.

***

Tony sighed. Ziva had been ignoring his knocking for five minutes. He pulled out his wallet and dug around a moment before finding the lock picks she had given him when she finally taught him to break and enter last year.

As he eased the door open, a gun was suddenly pointed at his face.

"Whoa!" Tony burst out.

"Hands in the air! Who are you?" A blond woman demanded.

Tony took her in. She was wearing an NCIS t-shirt that fell to the middle of her thigh, and possibly nothing else. It wasn't the first time Tony had seen a blond in such a t-shirt, but he appreciated it nevertheless. Fortunately he placed her just in time to keep a leer off his face; he was sure from the way she was holding her gun that she knew how to use one just as well as her sister.

"Tony DiNozzo," he said quickly. "We met last night."

"Of course." Miriam slowly lowered her weapon. Tony lowered his hands in tandem. "But why are you breaking into my sister's apartment."

Tony tried to come up with an answer, and finally went with the truth. "I heard from Abby what your mission was. I want to make sure Ziva was ok."

Miriam nodded, watching him in a knowing way that made Tony nervous. He relaxed a little as he thought fondly that it wasn't unlike the way Ziva had looked at him when they first met.

"Is she? Okay?"

Miriam looked away, toward the closed bedroom door. "She will be fine. But right now—she is upset."

Tony glanced from Miriam to the bedroom and back, wondering why Miriam wasn't with her sister. Miriam caught the look.

"Ziva is upset and I am—well, not. My mission is accomplished. I'm not the right person to comfort her now." She paused, looking him over. "Perhaps you are," she conceded.

Tony nodded. He pointed a finger toward the bedroom and Miriam nodded with a worried smile.

"Tony," she said as he reached it, warning him with her tone.

He nodded, and reached to knock again.

Tony stepped into the room in response to Ziva's muffled answer, and found her laying on the bed sideways, peering at him through lashes clotted by tears.

"What happened?" He sat down and reached out a hand but didn't touch her.

Ziva wiped her eyes with her sleeve and sat up cross-legged on the bed. "Patrick is dead."

Tony had known this intellectually when Miriam had said she'd completed her mission, but as he heard the words, from Ziva's own lips, he felt frozen, terrified of who she might be. "Did you kill him?" he asked softly.

She glanced up, wondering how he would think to guess. "Abby?"

Tony nodded.

Ziva's eyes dropped to her knees. She took a breath, began to speak, and stopped. Then she summoned the words and told him. "Not me, Miriam."

Tony watched her, wanting to hug her but held back by the rest of Abby's words. He knew he shouldn't press her now but the words forced themselves out. "Abby also said you were part of the set up."

Ziva clenched her eyes tightly shut. She'd retreated here to be away from Miriam and had found herself surrounded by the scent of Patrick's sweat in the sheets. "Yes," she said.

"But you didn't actually—"

Ziva opened her eyes. "Didn't what, Tony? Sleep with him?" she snapped. "Of course. There's no better way to get a target to do whatever you ask."

Tony watched her in wonder and shock. "Sometimes I feel like I don't know you at all."

Ziva shrugged, fighting the tears again. "You don't really, Tony."

He stood and began to pace. "Is this why you don't ever talk about Mossad? Is this the kind of thing you've spent your life doing? Luring men to their deaths?"

Now she spoke sharply, "Yes, Tony, luring terrorists and men who support the suicide bombing of women and children to their deaths. You had no qualms about this before, what is this? Are you that concerned about my sex life?"

Tony felt his head spin with the question. The most honest answer was, at least in part, yes. It turned him inside out to think of her as a woman who could sleep with a man she cared for and then watch him die. But he also resented that she'd slept with someone else at all. He scrambled for an answer that she wouldn't kill or at least injure him for.

"I liked him," Tony admitted after a moment.

"If Ari had wanted you to, you would have liked him, too."

Tony sighed. "I keep imagining—he woke up with you, all arousal and affection and I saw how he looked at you—" He looked at Ziva and stopped when he saw how his words were hurting her. After a moment, the sympathy faded. "He trusted you."

"They all did. It's harder this time because I trusted him too, once. But he betrayed me first."

Tony nodded. He struggled to take his own jealousy out of the equation. "And I suppose—I just never realized how much of yourself you sacrificed to Mossad. Your own body, I mean."

At this Ziva went limp. "It's not something they advertise. The first time I was sent on that sort of mission, they didn't even really explain I actually had to sleep with the man. I did it, I clearly had to, but I was so angry—it was the only time I ever saw Ari hit my father." She met Tony's eyes. "I know I am not like American women, Tony. But we are all told as children what we must do to achieve the future we want for ourselves. This is what I was told."

Tony sat back on the edge of the bed. "And did you? Achieve it?"

Ziva shook her head, tearful.

"What did you hope for?" He asked gently.

Ziva shrugged, hoping he wouldn't press, unable to speak.

Tony watched her as she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, wiping them dry. "You're my partner, Zi," he said. "And there have been moments in our friendship where I've thought about you in more-than-friendly ways and other moments where I realize I hardly know you at all."

Her pulse quickened then slowed. "I understand."

"Ziva—just talk to me. Talk to me like you trust me to keep your secrets and to know you. I know you just got betrayed by a friend, but you know me. There's nothing about myself I wouldn't tell you if you asked."

"Nothing?" She teased him to ease the seriousness of the mood.

"No." He was sincere.

"Ask me, then."

"It's not about me asking, it's about you telling me, because you want to, because you trust me, because I'm your partner and your friend and maybe more than that."

She was terrified and defensive and at the same time, somehow, it was an invitation she'd been waiting for, for so long. She was not the type to share, not the type to join in easily. But here he was, fighting for her, fighting to know her. And she was glad. "At least tell me where you'd like me to start."

Tony smiled at her. "Not right now," he said, "you just lost your friend. Come here." He opened his arms to her and let her crawl across to settle against him. As he buried his face in her hair, Tony hoped that he could live with the truths of her past.

***

Ziva woke, still on her bed, the room dim. It took her a moment to remember what had happened, but the knowledge yielded a sigh, not more tears. The tide had passed.

She slid out of bed and padded into the living room in her socks. "Miriam?" she called.

Miriam stepped out of the kitchen and smiled gently. "Tony left hours ago, have you been sleeping this whole time?"

Ziva shrugged. "I guess," she murmured in Hebrew.

"How are you feeling now?"

Ziva thought a moment. "Groggy, mostly."

"Tea?"

Ziva smiled. "That sounds lovely." She sank down onto the couch. She knew this was all part of it, the disconnection she felt. She could remember weeks after Tali died when she hadn't been able to summon the energy or direction to do anything.

A minute later Miriam sat down next to her, passing Ziva a cup of tea and sipping her own. Ziva blew a wave pattern across the top of the steaming cup, then set it down on the coffee table.

The sisters stared at the candle that still sat there.

"I remember the day your father first brought me and Moshe to your house. I was so little it's mostly pictures, but he brought me into your room and you and Ariel had built a fort out of couch cushions and sheets. You were friendly, but it was Ari who came out to pick me up and show me how to crawl inside. He was only ten—I don't know how he was so sweet."

Ziva watched her sister speak. "I didn't remember that. I remember the forts, and you, but not that day. I told Tony before how when Papa sent me after that pervert in Turkey, remember, and I didn't want to play along with him, Ari was so angry on my behalf."

They sat quietly. Then Miriam giggled and Ziva raised an eyebrow. "Remember the Passover when we pulled pranks on him? Frogs and toads and lice and blood in the bed sheets?"

Ziva laughed. "And he told Mama that the blood was mine and I'd taken a nap and gotten my period for the first time—I was only eleven—god, that was the most awkward conversation of my entire life."

Miriam was in hysterics, sprawled across the couch. "Did you tell me that at the time? I never knew that part."

"I don't know, you would have been a little young to know about that, I guess. It was great revenge on his part, though."

They sober after a moment, catch their breath. "He taught me to braid hair," Ziva offered. "On you, actually. I don't know who'd taught him, but he'd always do my braids when I was little."

"He taught me on Tali."

They sighed.

Ziva stood up.

"Where are you going?'

Without answering, Ziva crossed to the kitchen. Inside she found a packet of matches and returned to the couch. She looked closely at her sister. "Do you want to?" she asked, holding them out.

Miriam blew out her breath, staring at the matches. In five years, neither of them had once lit a candle, had once said the prayers for the dead. She looked back up at Ziva and nodded.

Ziva tried to strike one but her hands started trembling, so Miriam took it from her and lit the candle. The light danced. Ziva sat back and Miriam leaned her head against her big sister's shoulder. "V'yit gadal," Ziva began, and Miriam joined in as the prayer continued, filling the room, and their memories, with a little more peace.

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A/N 2: Hope you liked it! That's the end. I'm thinking of making another fic out of Tony and Ziva later having the conversation where he gets to ask her whatever he wants about her past. Thoughts?


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